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by Doire



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doire/pseuds/Doire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snufkins's winter wanderings</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mercurie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercurie/gifts).



  
  
| There are those who stay at home and those who go away, and it has always been so. Everyone can choose for himself, but he must choose while there is still time and never change his mind.  
Moominvalley in November|   
---|---|---  
  
There was no doubt that the nights were drawing in. Each day was shorter than the one before and the sun was noticeably nearer the horizon at midday.  
Last week, surely it was only last week, Snufkin had struck camp when the fancy took him, wandered through fen and by lake, until a campsite called to him and made himself snug each night. Now the time needed to pitch and strike camp, with light enough to see, left little time to travel. The wanderer was no longer wandering; he was heading South. No longer just seeing where tomorrow would lead him; his road was narrowing to a destination.  
Next time Snufkin saw signs of recent activity in the bleak fields he kept an eye out for farm hands. At length he saw a burly worker pushing a heavily laden hand-cart down the muddy track.

"Hello," said Snufkin.  
After a silence he tried again, "Fine weather for the time of year."  
"A hand with this load would do better than chattering."  
"Ah," thought Snufkin, "work is more welcome than company and for family wages, no doubt."  
Nevertheless he took turns shifting the cart on towards the rough storage sheds and silently unloading it. When they had finished the worker looked appraisingly at Snufkin and spoke,"a hot meal and shelter for working till dark. How would that suit you?"  
"You have a bargain."

The work was tedious. No time for listening, no time for singing, not even breath for whistling, but hot fish stew with bread was a fair return. There was little conversation during the meal and less afterwards as the family expected to sleep through the long night. No matter, there was space to sleep out of the wind and Snufkin was used to his own company.  
He left at daybreak, before his hosts were fully roused. "Out of the way is the best thing," he said to himself, "no complications. No regrets."  
He'd gone a mile or so down the road when he discovered that the work had been harder than he'd realised. Muscles hardened to days of walking broken by hours of relaxation were protesting at the unrelenting labour of the day before. "Ow," he thought, "imagine how I'd feel after a summer's day in the field. Imagine if I got used to it." He walked on, happy to be free of duties.

Farms and small-holdings grew more common. Snufkin passed by several each day, but made camp in the shelter of field walls or snuck into byres for the night rather than bargain with honest toil. One night he strayed too close the main buildings of a large homestead and was found by the daughter of the house.  
"What are you doing there?" she said. "Do you have no place to stay? Come in and warm yourself."  
"I'm all right here. It's a good spot for a wanderer." He thought of Moominmama and her doors open to all creatures. He didn't think that this was such a welcoming house. "What ever would your mother say?"  
"It's my house," she said with a wide smile, "and I'll invite anyone I want to. They've all gone shooting and left me by myself because I didn't want to go with them. I'd like someone to stay with me and keep me company. They shouldn't have left me behind."  
But Snufkin had already left, grabbing his pack and blanket. The roads round about were better; passable even in the dark. You can keep warm by walking, and walking through the night was his choice. It would be a bad thing to meet the returning shooting party. He resolutely didn't think about the hunter left behind with her ensnaring smiles.

The paved roads held more traffic now. Snufkin was passed by more trucks and cars, by fewer horse drawn carts, and realised it was days since he had last seen a hand-cart. This road was not meant for walkers. Time for a ride. Time to be carried in a direction chosen by someone else, because that is your choice. Snufkin stopped at a junction and stuck out his thumb.  
Lifts are like tunes; you can't chase them but must wait for them to come to you. Two might have been, but were not happy with Snufkin's cheerful: "Anywhere." The third accepted his offer of: "The city?" and he settled into the passenger seat of a well used truck next to a talkative heating repairer. The driver seemed quite human, but Snufkin soon recognised the Hemulen tendency to interpret every reply as a request to have any uncertainties sorted out. And sorted out properly. In short order Snufkin knew more than he would have thought possible about faults in stoves, had had a place to stay mapped out for him, and a promise to have him there before supper.  
When the truck stopped at the hostel, he was exhausted. His driver was off with a cheerful: "Must be on my way now. Heaters need fixing in this weather," before he could give his thanks. Snufkin's faint feeling of guilt didn't last. He'd given the opportunity of helping to someone who appreciated it. Not everyone can do that.

The hostel was homely and welcoming. "No charge for travellers until they find their feet," said the laughing warden. "We'll just charge the tourists double when they come to see the midnight sun." The rooms were clean, the food was plentiful, if plain, and there was good company in the long evenings. The long tables were set with white earthenware and white glasses. Somehow the cooking and serving were done though any organisation was invisible. When they were cleared, and Snufkin happily took part in the clearing since no one had actually told him to do so, they were pushed to the walls opening the centre of the room for music and occasional dancing. Pipes were smoked by the glowing fireplace and a bottle or two might be passed around.  
"Hey," called one, "give us a tune we've not heard before."  
"No, something we can sing to."  
"Sing if you know this. Listen if you don't."  
Tunes were remembered. Poems declaimed. New melodies captured and given to the gathering. The long nights passed in good company.

There were only a few days until the solstice when Snufkin realised he had an admirer. A young man, formally dressed, was gazing at him with deep, dark eyes. He was there the next night, shy and silent, but almost animated when Snufkin played.  
"Bother," thought Snufkin, "He's going to wait and wait. I shall have to talk to him and then he'll carry on waiting. Why can't people just do what they want to instead of trying to be what others want?"  
He made his way over to the young man, who grew painfully red. "I want to tease him, but that would be unkind. Which I suppose means I'm behaving the same way. Why can't things stay simple?"  
"I.. I told a friend about your playing. She dances. Would you come to meet her? Please say you'll come."  
"So things are still simple," he thought, saying: "When would you like to meet?"  
"She will be dancing in the park next week to call back the sun. Next Tuesday, at noon. So could you come at ten?"  
"If I can."  
"Oh do, please," and his eyes got even wider.

On Tuesday Snufkin woke feeling obliged. "Bother," he thought, "I said I would and I suppose I shall have to. I have put myself in a cage." He dressed in his green coat and hat (indeed he had no choice in this) and ambled down to open space where the people were to remind the Sun that it was time to return.  
The dancer was waiting by a snow-covered mound. She was stretching and twisting, warming her muscles in slow movements. Snufkin stopped for a moment to admire her, then carried on over. "Hello, I'm Snufkin. Did I hear that you wanted me to play for you?"  
"You came. I'm so glad you have. I've heard such good things about your music. Would you make something just for me, for me to dance to?"  
"Your informant may be biased."  
"He knows music and he knows me. If he thinks it would be right, then I trust him."  
"I can't promise, but I would be glad to watch and consider it."  
"That's all I could expect, more than I should. Thank you. I have to go now but stay and I will return after the rite."

Snufkin watched, seated besides the mound, and felt the movements spark tunes within him.  
She came back, wet with exertion despite the winter cold and said simply "Will you?"  
"Yes."  
" You can't stay much longer at that hostel. Come back with me. We're all students and we live together as family. Come and we'll find a place for you."  
As simply as that Snufkin found a winter home.  



End file.
